A distant death knell tolls,
So deafening yet meek.
I wonder where the steeple is,
In this meadow dry and bleak.

Trailing shallow footprints,
Trudging in the withered grass,
Ears ringing from the bell,
I have reached the church at last.

A lone skeletal framework
Holding up the wretched knell,
Swaying through the murky skies.
What dread and glee shall it foretell?